Object of Lust
by Lone.L
Summary: Oneshot. The story is intricately set, masterfully woven. The characters are present. The setting is ready. In this quiet, desolate place, what becomes of these things is for them, and them alone, to decide.


I hope that, as is the aim with all my stories, this one temporarily takes you away from where you are and to a calmer place, if but for a moment. Please read and enjoy.

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**Object of Lust**

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The spacious, quiet room is more of a shelter, a container estranged from the rest of the world around it, than a study. Murky air permeates the entirety of the atmosphere, wafting through the aphotic capacity––for there is little light. A single glass lamp clings to its mount on the wall above an old bookshelf, covered with a thick layer of dust that considerably dims what illumination it provides; due to the lack of natural light and the absolute stillness of the silent room, it seems to glow faintly, as if radiating an aura. The diminutive library, seemingly tucked away from existence, is encompassed by four beige walls, which are completely covered by the large bookshelves that stand against them. They are stained a dark mahogany, dusty, and littered from top to bottom with thick volumes bound in every color from red to black. The study itself is just large enough to hold all four bookshelves and a single table, equally as dark, with enough surface area to fit six chairs: two on each side and two at the ends. It is so quiet that noise seems to have never existed. 

Time, in fact, does not even seem to flow in this place.

He cannot remember how long he has been here. In truth, it does not seem to matter.

Open books are spread over every inch of the table's surface, along with writing utensils, stacks of paper, loose sheets, and crumpled balls. His fists rest on the tabletop, one heavier than the other. He is crunched forward in his chair, head bent, fierce golden eyes narrowed. Golden-blonde hair splays out behind his head, swirling into a neat braid. The collar of his onyx shirt hangs open, trailing down to the pitch-dark pants and black boots that cover his legs and feet. His mouth is clenched tightly.

A bead of sweat splashes against the table, and he removes himself, leaning back in his chair.

It seems that he has come here to research, and to put his thoughts together. It seems that he enjoys the solitude of the study simply for the chance to be alone, to relish the silence. It also seems that he does not truly know his purpose.

Appearances can be deceiving, after all.

He is here because it is the set of a pre-arranged meeting. The separated scene of the quiet, obscure study is the setting. The task of searching the depths of his heart forms the plot. The decision to come, to face what might result, has become the exposition.

And they are the characters.

The story is woven masterfully. The threads and strings of his emotions have been firmly tied together, resulting in a more complete feeling than he has been able to grasp in a long while; the comings and goings of their lives have finally converged on a unanimous point, providing the ideal conditions for this collision of forces.

He remains at rest in the chair, folding his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. As he waits, thoughts and questions flicker through his sharp mind, giving him the chance to ponder how he arrived at the decision he did; how things might have ended up this way; how a few events or actions never taking place could have changed everything. It's startling, and in comparison to its implications, the actions that led to it are resigned to little more than a footnote at the back of a forsaken diary.

As a page is turned, so do the minutes tick away slowly. The silence remains.

As a small tap echoes off an obscure book in the corner, his head turns slowly, a knowing grin on his face. The book falls; many others follow, revealing the only true entrance or exit from the tiny haven: a small, constructed doorway only revealed when the shelves in that single spot—which are supported by the books below them—collapse. They are cleverly hinged to the sides of the bookshelf, allowing them to fall without being completely removed. Heels make sharp clacks as a silhouette slowly strides into the room. Without unfolding his arms, he returns to the direction he was previously facing, nonchalantly gazing at a wall of books.

A seductive voice, masked by a sarcastic tone, quietly drifts through the study.

"You had to pick here, of all places?"

He chuckles softly, confidence radiating from his still form.

"Yeah. There a problem?"

A halted whisper. "No."

She steps forward into the hazy glow. As her light-violet eyes adjust, they roll to become interlocked with his. His unflinching gaze rattles her slightly; she takes a step back, feeling a sharp intake of breath enter and leave her body. Her chest rises and falls with the exhalation, stretching the black fabric she is garbed in taut. The heels she wears echo with each step. Her long, dark hair cascades past her shoulders and down her back. She rocks forward, forcing him to take in her voluptuous body, a smile forming on her opulent lips.

"I'm glad you came."

He eyes her warily. "I said I would."

The lust she is named after is clouding her eyes as she gazes at him.

"I never said I would make you human."

"That's not the only reason I came."

"...I know."

Her arms unfold as she moves gracefully to his side, taking the chair beside his. He shows a calm demeanor, casually tapping the table with his metal fingers. His ease in her presence shocks them both, though neither will admit it. They stare, eyes locked, for long moments before he speaks out in a low tone.

"I appreciate you doing this for me. But before you get anything, I need you to tell me everything I need to know about your master."

She obliges, tossing out facts and useful bits of information with little hesitance, outlining important notes for him. As she does so, it is with a smirk that she begins to understand that his attention is merely half focused on what she is saying, the other half focusing simply on her. She smiles sensually at him, causing his eyes to deflect quickly as he looks away, nearly blushing. The previous conversation abandoned, she stops what she was doing and leans towards him, quietly uttering words in his ear.

"You know, we're not so different."

"I'm aware of that." A stoic reply. So much like him.

He glances at the notes she has written down, and nods satisfactorily.

"That'll do it. Thanks."

"Now you give me what I want in return."

He looks at her with a blank expression, although he obviously knows of what she is speaking.

She chuckles. "Equivalency."

"Before you do, I have to ask. Is this just a byproduct of what you are…your name?"

Her voice morphs into a low purr. "No. You're…differen t."

Accepting that, he folds his arms once more and leans back. As she stands, the chair scrapes against the floor; the sound transitions into the clacks of her heels as she moves to his seat. Standing over him, she smiles—he is giving her that unflinching gaze again. Meeting no resistance, she leans down and quickly captures his lips in a deep kiss. Her tongue darts in and out of his mouth, and her breathing becomes heavier. He is neutral, choosing neither to fight back nor to go along, simply allowing her to carry out her wishes.

This continues for what seems like several minutes, until she finally pulls away with a quiet gasp.

His eyebrows rise as his confident smile disappears—duri ng the course of the touch, his manner has deteriorated from that suave confidence to a slightly flustered embarrassment. She gazes at him once more, slipping out a question.

"Was that so bad?"

"No," he rasps out, "Maybe…maybe we're not so different after all."

She smiles yet again and pulls back, returning to her seat.

Suddenly, it seems even quieter than it had before.

"You had to pick here, of all places?"

"Yeah. There a problem?"

A whisper dripping with her seductive tone. "No. In fact…"

He sniffs questioningly.

"…I think I might stay a bit longer," she concludes.

"Yeah."

There is an almost undetectable zip, a tiny flash of black, as the glass lamp shatters, casting the previously dim study into a state of perpetual darkness. A mutual understanding has been reached between two fascinating characters that are not so different after all. In this isolated paradise that contains so many stories, they are now free to weave one of their own.

The diminutive library, seemingly tucked away from existence, is encompassed by four beige walls, which are completely covered by the large bookshelves that stand against them. They are stained a dark mahogany, dusty, and littered from top to bottom with thick volumes bound in every color from red to black. The study itself is just large enough to hold all four bookshelves, a single table, equally as dark, and two very interesting people. It is so quiet that noise seems to have never existed.

Time, in fact, does not even seem to flow in this place.

He does not know how long he will be here.

To both of them, it is a petulant, unimportant detail.

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**A/N:** YES! More EdLust! I think I'm so awesome right now. But seriously, this one was so much fun to write, and even better to read. I'm a little apprehensive of what the reader reaction will be, not so much because I'm really this couple's only author, but because nobody reviews anymore. Regardless, this was awesome. I struggled to find a perfect balance between their personas and sides and a chance for a romantic spark to be created, as **Kanashii.Umi **can attest to, but I think I did just fine in the end. She did some pre-reading and added suggestions for this, so an appreciative shout-out to her. I've had at least three people tell my my fics have turned them onto the huge possibilites of EdLust, so I hope this can do the same for you. Please read and review.

**LL**


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